The Liberation of Alice Love(53)
Author: Abby McDonald

It was almost amusing, the trust they placed in perfect strangers.

He glanced behind them, to where his friends still sat. “I have some people with me. If you’ve got the time, I’d love to introduce you.”

“Of course.” Alice took the hand he offered to help her down from the stool, following him across the room with a swing in her step.

“Everybody, this is Angelique.”

The group greeted her with smiles and air kisses as Rafael presented her, moving to make space for them in the booth. There was Anton and Paolo and Lucia and several more besides: a blur of sleek hair, sparkling jewelry, and infinite ease. Ordinarily, Alice knew she would have been intimidated by a collection of such glamorous, foreign strangers, but this was no ordinary night. She made the introductions with light smiles and a careless air, settling beside Rafael as if it were her due.

“Jeannine works in the art world too,” Rafael helpfully pointed out, nodding to the voluptuous brunette across the table. She was exchanging hushed, intimate comments with one of the men, her head tilted close to his as she gazed up through her eyelashes. At the sound of her name, she broke off the conversation.

“Sì, at the Galleria Menata, in the Parioli.”

“Oh, the Menata.” Alice adopted a knowledgeable expression. “I’ve heard good things about the place.”

Jeannine smiled generously. “I like it, but not for long. I shall move soon, I think. It gets—how you put it?—monotonous for the while.”

Alice relaxed back into the space beneath Rafael’s arm, slung over the back of the seating. “I know what you mean,” she agreed, as if she really did. “That’s why I work for myself now. I couldn’t stand the hierarchy, all the petty politics.”

There were murmurs of agreement. “A toast,” Paolo declared, sweeping back his dark curls with one hand. “To independence.”

Drinks were refreshed, the old piano player made way for a sultry singer, and all the while Alice built on the impulsive foundations of this Angelique’s imaginary life. Rafael’s body pressed against her. She fed her alter ego’s history with details plucked from Flora’s schooling at St. Martin’s, and Cassie’s varied travels, and snippets from stories she’d heard at work or read in passing newspapers, until she was confidently debating the merits of national arts funding with Anton and exchanging insider beauty tips with the lovely Lucia as if she really were the other woman, feeling not a moment of fear or doubt.

“A tiny backstreet salon in Paris,” she told the other women, describing a beauty spot she’d seen praised in last month’s Vogue. “It’s nothing to look at from the outside, but I swear, it’s better than anything in the Saint-Germain.”

“Really?” Lucia blinked.

“But of course, you don’t need my advice.” Alice gave an approving smile, as if she had the power to judge. “I’m sure your diary is overflowing with the best places.”

“True.” Lucia nodded, in that almost-arrogant way Alice had found was second nature to these women. “Still, I will check it out.”

Suddenly Jeannine exclaimed, unleashing a torrent of Italian. They all looked over. Paolo protested, and the pair of them became entangled in a quick-fire exchange, hurling retorts at the other.

“They were married for a short while,” Rafael explained in a low voice, his breath light against Alice’s earlobe. A shiver rippled down her spine. She leaned closer. Rafael’s hand dropped to her shoulder, softly stroking a tiny circle on her skin as he explained the fraught nature of his friends’ relationship. Alice was so distracted by the delicious sensation of his touch that she had to fight to register a single word.

“So we never know if they’ll get back together, or not.” Rafael stopped the stroking. Alice longed for more.

“Staying friends with an ex-husband is a terrible trial,” she offered. “I tried it, for a while, but it was all too messy.”

“You were married?” Again, Rafael looked at her with interest.

Alice flickered her gaze skyward in an appropriately world-weary way. “Twice, actually.” She felt his eyes still on her, so she decided to elaborate. “The first time, I was too young to know better—so naïve and idealistic. And the second, well…” She thought fast. What would this Angelique have done? “He was older, and I was madly in love. We tore each other apart, of course, but—” At this, she paused for an expressive sigh. “What could I do? When it comes to love, I just have to be bold, never mind the consequences.”

“So true.” Rafael gave her a slow look, full of intent. “We are but slaves to passion.” His hand slipped to her waist, stroking through the silk of her dress, and Alice caught her breath. His charm may be practiced, but their strange alchemy of attraction was real enough. As she drifted into a pleasant haze—focused only on the slow sweep of his fingertips on her hip—she wondered, How long had it been since she’d felt desire so close and real? How many months was it since she’d been breathless, sweating, caught up in nothing more than lust, deep in her stomach? Too long.

Tilting her head toward him, so her lips grazed his cheek, she whispered softly, “Shall we go?”

He drew back to look at her, and Alice held his gaze. Although her heart was pounding, and the risk was intoxicating, she stared back, bolder than she’d ever been in her life before. Alice didn’t proposition men or seduce strangers or even be so direct about the lust that was sharp in her veins, but Angelique? This was easy for her.

Rafael’s lips curled in a slow smile; he nodded. “Much apologies,” he told the group in a loud voice, already pulling Alice to her feet. “My friend has an early flight.”

“It was lovely to meet you all,” she agreed, leaning over to exchange more kisses with the women. Then Rafael ran his hand down her bare back in a secret caress and Alice forgot niceties; she let him usher her out of the bar and into the dark street, barely steps from the heavy glass doors before he pulled her against him.

The kiss was hard and hot, and Alice tripped against him, dizzy as he held her upright. “My apartment is near,” he murmured, hands tight against her waist. Alice nodded, afraid her voice would belie her truth. She didn’t do this, it wasn’t her, but, “Oh…”—she let out an involuntary moan as his lips closed on her neck. As her head fell back, she caught sight of people down the street, eyes flicking curiously toward them while Rafael’s hands dipped lower, brazen.